


Emphasis on Temporary

by walfs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cancer, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walfs/pseuds/walfs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remission. </p><p>Stiles doesn't really know what that word means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emphasis on Temporary

Remission.

Stiles doesn't really know what that word means.  
  
He thinks it means "better", that Mom is getting well even if it's taking later instead of sooner. Mom says that it means there's no new disease, which is really good-- Stiles likes that she doesn't treat him like some dumb kid, talking to him like the grown-up he is now that he's ten-- but if she's all better like they keep saying then why aren't they celebrating with ice cream?  
  
Mom's favorite ice cream is mint and Stiles likes chocolate chip. Sometimes, they share them, mixing flavors and laughing through the mess when Dad sneaks in their fort because they're hogging it all.  
  
They could do that when they get home, even if tonight is spaghetti night and they haven't had dinner. And then Dad can be all gross and kiss Mom, like he does after every bite of mint because it's his favorite, too. Ice cream, that is. Dad’s favorite anything is Mom.  
  
But Stiles doesn't think they're going to.  
  
Mom's shaking and Dad looks really scared and Stiles doesn't understand why because they said 'remission' means 'better'. Better is always a good thing when you get sick.  
  
As they drive away, Stiles sees an older boy with glowing eyes run off, moving so fast he can barely see him. He opens his mouth to say something right as Mom suggests they stop for some ice cream, a hope he’d just given up on, and just like that the old thought is gone.  
  
"Will I get sick if we share?" he asks.  
  
Mom smiles at him and turns so she can runs her fingers through his hair.  
  
"No, baby. You'll be okay."  
  
She's getting better.  
  
\---  
  
Remission.  
  
Stiles has had two years to look it up during his spastic research sprees, to learn for himself what it meant instead of just believing what he'd been told. He's really regretting not doing it because it's not as permanent of a better as they led him to believe.  
  
In his version, there were a lot less nights sprawled over uncomfortable chairs, not bothering to talk Dad into coming back to the house because home isn't really home when Mom is stuck in the hospital. Indefinitely.  
  
She always smiles for them when they show up, accepts their flowers and hugs and tells them not to worry.  
  
And when chemotherapy starts and her hair falls out, she just laughs it away with a simple, "It'll grow back."  
  
They pretend not to notice when all the mirrors disappear from her room, and she keeps on smiling, even if it’s more strained than what it used to be.  
  
It's late one Sunday when Stiles sneaks in. His dad has made it clear to all staff that if they see him after hours on a school night they're supposed to send him home or call him. Stiles forgoes the front door, instead climbing up a tree and hauling himself through the window to an empty room on his Mom's floor.  
  
Scott’s mom is on duty. He should've known she would catch him, just like she always does. He knows making eyes has never worked on her before, but maybe now, after he pulls down his hood, shows her...  
  
"Of course," she sighs. It’s not as long-suffering as usual, which Stiles takes to be a win; he really does owe her some kind of gift card or flower bouquet or something because Mrs. McCall lets him get away with a lot.  
  
Stiles slips by her with a small smile on his face and right into his mom’s private room. She’s still awake, tucked under mounds of blankets and the soft glow of a reading lamp.  
  
“You should be at home,” she says, not bothering to look up from her book.  
  
“You should be asleep,” he replies and steps up beside the bed. Stiles is just tallest enough now that he’s looking down at her, tall enough that she actually has to lift her head up to look him in the eye. And he knows the exact moment when she sees his newly shaved head, shiny and clean like hers.  
  
It startles a laugh out of her. When her hands reach for him, Stiles lowers his head obediently so she can run her hands over it. Her fingers trail down his face and tug him up by the ears as she giggles.  
  
“You-- oh, lord-- you look like a little monkey!” She chokes out.  
  
Stiles spends the night making faces and monkey noises at her, and when they finally fall asleep her smile is so much like what it used to be that he can’t help the rekindling of hope that maybe they’ll grow their hair out together.  
  
He tells himself she's getting better.  
  
\---  
  
Re-mis-sion.  
 _Noun._  
Best described by medical definition four: a diminution of the seriousness or intensity of disease or pain; a temporary recovery.  
  
Stiles learns this real meaning of this word when it stops being an option, when the doctors say that they’re sorry, they’ve done all they could but it’s spreading faster than they can control, they’ll do what they can to make it comfortable for her.  
  
His mother smiles even when she cries (because she can’t get out of bed on her own or can’t eat solid food, won’t be there much longer to take care of her boys) but she laughs when she has the strength for it because if you’re not laughing, what’s the point?  
  
Stiles’s father is finishing a case when she... passes. The only one in the room is Stiles, who is finishing up some math homework; the only clue he gets prior is her hand covering his, and then the monitors all flatline before he can call for anyone.  
  
The funeral is small and private.  
  
Stiles stands with his dad the entire time, pretends not to notice the small flask he keeps pulling from. Scott is nearby, somewhere, but Stiles can’t get his eyes to focus long enough to find him. The speech is a drone of words.  
  
They stay behind after everyone is gone, and when Stiles’s father gets drunks enough that he can’t stand on his own anymore, Stiles loads him into the Jeep and drives them home, laws be damned.  
  
Stiles inhales, pushes away his grief, and learns to take care of his father.  
  
Neither of them really get better.


End file.
